


what r u wearing

by earlgreytea68



Series: KtCR [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's Arthur and there's Eames and there's attempted sexting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic came to me when I was at a coffee shop in Houston. I was in Houston for a presentation and I was supposed to be working on the presentation but instead the idea for this fic wouldn't leave me alone. I wrote most of it in my head while walking from the coffee shop to the hotel and then I wrote it that night as a treat to myself. Hopefully you consider it a treat, too. :-)
> 
> Thank you as always to arctacuda for brilliantly beta-ing and putting up with Eames's terrible phone grammar! Thank you also to knackorcraft for reading my madcap draft and making sure this works in the Inception universe!

Chapter One

_what r u wearing_

That was Eames’s entire text. 

Arthur sighed and considered it and then decided to take it literally because he was currently being shouted at by a mediocre extractor, and he’d wanted the distraction of the text, but he didn’t want too much distraction. 

_Burberry_ , he texted back. 

“Are you texting someone right now?” the extractor screamed at him. “Are you fucking _texting somebody_ right now?” 

Arthur sighed and put his phone down. “Yeah, because texting someone right now means I’m not putting a bullet in your fucking leg.” 

“You would put a bullet in my leg?” shouted the extractor, comically offended by this. 

“It wouldn’t kill you, but it would shut you up. So yes, I’d happily put a bullet in your leg right now. If I wasn’t texting someone.” 

His cell phone buzzed again on the desk. 

_darling :(_

Arthur texted back. _The Prince of Wales check wool. The brown one._

“I told you that it was impossible to do this job without—” the extractor was babbling on. 

“No,” Arthur interrupted him evenly. “You told me that you didn’t think it was possible, not that it _was_ impossible.” 

The extractor stared at him. “And that matters why?”

“Because it isn’t impossible, as I’ve just told you. In fact, it’s the way we’re going to do this job, because it’s the way that makes sense, so shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down.” 

The cell phone buzzed again. 

_y are u so annoying :(_

“Who the _fuck_ is texting you anyway?” the extractor demanded. 

_Blue tie_ , Arthur texted back. 

“We do it this way or I walk,” said Arthur calmly and evenly. 

He was aware of the silence that fell over the warehouse, of the architect staring between the both of them in concern. 

He didn’t care. He didn’t need this job, and his policy these days was to only take the jobs he wanted. This one had been an interesting challenge until he’d cracked it. Now the extractor didn’t want to do it in the one way Arthur had found to make sense, and Arthur was over the whole situation. 

The extractor sputtered at him. 

“Your choice,” Arthur said. “You were the one who said you wanted to work with the best point in the business.” 

The cell phone on the desk buzzed. 

Arthur was busy holding the extractor’s gaze, so he didn’t glance down at it. But he did tip the corner of his mouth up ever so slightly. “Hitman,” he said. “Very dangerous hitman. That’s who I’m texting.” 

The extractor snarled and stalked out. 

Arthur picked up his cell phone and smiled at the text. 

_:( :( :( :(_

***

“Can I lodge a complaint?” Eames had panted, the last time they’d been in the same place together. 

Arthur had said, “No, you can’t fucking lodge a complaint. Right now? After that?” 

“Why are you so bad at sexting?” Eames had said. 

“Sexting is stupid,” Arthur had mumbled, and fallen asleep. 

***

They came up from a training exercise to find the chemist holding Arthur’s phone. 

“You got, like, fifty million texts,” he told Arthur. “I hope this entire operation’s not falling apart.” 

“Well, did you check?” demanded the extractor. 

“His phone’s password protected,” the chemist shrugged. 

“Do you think that’s safe?” asked the extractor. 

Arthur ignored him, typing in his password and scrolling through the texts, all from Eames. 

_r u wearing a tie_

_i bet u r ur always wearing a tie_

_arthur?????_

_??????_

_lets assume ur under and not dead_

_im going to say the tie is orange. is ur tie orange_

_nm, ur tie is now orange, k_

_what would u do to me with ur orange tie_

_it would help if u would particapate in this darling_

_U HAD SO BETTER BE DEAD AND NOT IGNORING ME_

_i take that back of course ur not dead text me when ur topside_

_in the meantime ur tie is orange and i am imagining u in bed wearing only an orange tie and this is a good situation_

_if u r dead this is a good last image for me to remember u by_

_miss u xx_

“So?” said the extractor, practically drooling with eagerness. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine topside,” Arthur snapped, “it’s down below that you are a _fucking disaster_.” 

“Hey, it is not my fault that Kara’s belfry fell apart—”

“Why the fuck is there a belfry to begin with?” Arthur demanded, now texting Eames back furiously, hitting _send send send_ with no pause to give Eames any response time. 

_This extractor is an idiot._

_I may end up killing him._

_Not really, but definitely shooting him in the leg._

_He is a disaster, and I should walk out on this job._

_I’m not dead, by the way._

_But I was in the dream almost because a belfry fell on top of me._

_The dream has a belfry._

_IT HAS A BELFRY._

_I don’t even own an orange tie._

Arthur stopped texting and took a deep breath and Kara, the architect, said, “We can get rid of the belfry if you want, Jose just thought—”

Arthur’s phone buzzed. 

_darling u sound tense i bet sexting with me would make it better_

And Arthur laughed. Arthur actually managed to laugh. God, he fucking _adored_ Eames. Which he knew Eames knew. 

And then his phone was ringing, Eames calling him, and Arthur said, “I’ve got to take this,” and walked out of the warehouse and out onto the street, where the humidity hit him like being slapped in the face with a wet towel, and he didn’t mind because when he answered the phone Eames would be talking to him— _Eames_ —and it was all good. “I’ll buy you an orange tie, though,” he said as he answered the phone. “I didn’t know that was a particular thing of yours.” 

“All right, love?” asked Eames, in that casual-but-really-serious way he had. 

“Jose’s an idiot.” 

“I told you he was.” 

“Thank you. You are very soothing and supportive, with your I-told-you-sos and your poorly spelled attempts at sexting.” 

“Sorry, but I _did_. You were bored, so you didn’t want to hear it, but he’s an idiot.” 

Arthur leaned against the wall and ignored the busy street all around him. “Where are you?”

“Oh.” Eames’s voice sounded brighter suddenly. “Are we doing this?” His voice dropped to a purr. “I’m in our bed, totally naked—”

“Eames,” Arthur sighed. 

“Fine. I _am_ in our bed, but I’m wearing sweatpants and I’m bloody bored to bloody tears because you are not here because you took a job I told you you would hate, and surprise, now you hate it. So come home. The dog misses you, he’s moping.” 

“No, he’s not, that dog only ever misses _you_ because you bribe him with people food. And we’re almost done here,” Arthur said. “If I left now, I’d leave them down a man for the extraction and that’s not fair.”

“You’re too nice.” 

“Remind me of that when I put a bullet in his leg on my way out the door.” 

Eames made a noncommittal noise, then, “A belfry? Really?”

“It has fucking bats, too.” 

Eames laughed and Arthur closed his eyes and let the sound fall all around him and _ached_ with missing him. “What the hell kind of job _is_ this, Arthur?” 

“I’m telling you,” said Arthur, rubbing at his forehead. “He’s insane.” 

“So fuck him and come home.” Eames paused. “By which I don’t mean to _fuck_ him, of course.” 

“It’s fine,” said Arthur, and took a deep breath. “Your texts caught me at a bad time. We’d just come out of a bad training exercise.” 

“With a collapsing belfry. Listen, do you need a forger on the job?” 

“No,” said Arthur truthfully. 

“Do you just need me on the job?” 

“No,” Arthur said, again truthfully. 

“Do you _want_ me on the job?” 

Arthur was silent for a moment. Because the truth of that was he wanted Eames on every job. “I’ll be fine,” said Arthur. 

***

_laying in bed_

_thinking of u_

Arthur leaned on the doorjamb of the warehouse in the bright morning sunlight and looked at Eames’s latest texts. He was cradling his first cup of coffee of the day, and behind him in the warehouse the entire team was getting ready for another run-through of the whole job, hopefully complete with non-collapsing belfry this time. Hopefully with no belfry at all this time. 

Arthur had felt like he’d needed a few deep breaths, a little bit of fresh air, before drugging himself back into sleep. Eames’s texts were from the night before, from just before he’d called Eames to hear all about the situation from Eames’s own lips. 

Arthur always felt slightly guilty about the texts. Eames texted him constantly, endlessly, a stream of poorly spelled and under-capitalized mini-missives. Eames texted him when they were in the same apartment, requests for cups of tea or to change the channel of the television or just to demand his presence. Arthur thought it was ridiculous. Arthur almost never texted Eames. Arthur didn’t know what to say. Talking to Eames came naturally to him, effortless, their conversations flowed. But Arthur thought of what to put in a text and drew a blank. Eames could put things like _miss u_ in a text and it didn’t seem ridiculous. If Arthur texted Eames _I miss you_ , he’d…feel ridiculous. It just wasn’t _him_. 

Arthur’s finger hovered over the _reply_ button as he considered. Surely Eames deserved a text every so often. Not one wrung out of Arthur unwillingly by the most provoking thing Eames could say, but just a text so that Eames knew he thought of him, constantly, every second. Arthur thought of Eames, lodging a complaint in bed, wanting Arthur to be better at sexting. 

_Wearing an orange tie_ , Arthur texted finally. It was a lie, but Eames didn’t need to know that. 

Eames’s reply was instantaneous. _do go on_. And then, _send pix_. 

Arthur didn’t have pictures of himself in an orange tie, because he didn’t have an orange tie. Why had he _started_ this? God, he was such an idiot. 

He hesitated, biting his lip, unsure what to say in response. 

Kara said, “You spend a lot of time with that phone.” 

Arthur felt caught out, guilty, as if he wasn’t allowed to be on the phone with his boyfriend. Then again, he _wasn’t_ , because he wasn’t supposed to have a boyfriend, because no one was supposed to know about him and Eames. He pocketed his phone and gave her a wan smile. 

Kara leaned against the opposite doorjamb and cocked her head at him. Then she smiled. “She’s lucky. Or he. Whoever it is.” 

“Who?” said Arthur a little blankly. 

“Whoever it is who makes you go all crinkly eyed like that. You do it whenever you look at your phone, you know. It’s sweet and cute.”

The opposite of what Arthur tried to be in professional situations. He frowned a bit, as his cell phone buzzed in his pocket, Eames more strenuously requesting pictures, Arthur was sure. “It’s just that the phone’s not Jose,” Arthur said, trying to make light of the whole thing.

“It’s true that comparison to Jose makes everything look awesome,” Kara agreed drily. 

Arthur smiled a little bit. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to your sexting,” Kara told him, straightening up. 

“It isn’t sexting,” Arthur protested automatically. 

She gave him a wry look as she walked away. “Uh-huh.” 

Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

_???_

_what is taking so long?_

_r u teasing me?_

_aaaaaaaaaaaaaarthuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr_

Sweet and cute, thought Arthur. What the hell was he _doing_ right now? He chewed on his lower lip and stared at Eames’s texts and texted back slowly, _Got to run, training exercise_.

The run-through went better than the last one, largely because they’d eliminated the fucking belfry. But Arthur came back topside to a text from Eames that read _ur a terrible boyfriend_. 

Arthur called Eames as he walked back to his hotel, and Eames teased about the orange tie and how he was going to make Arthur wear nothing but an orange tie all day for at least a day once Arthur got home. Clearly the terrible boyfriend comment had been Eames’s idea of flirting with him, but Arthur hung up his phone and sat in his hotel room and pulled out hotel vodka and took a swig and called his sister. 

She answered with, “Are you dying? Did you use your last dying breath to call me? I’m touched.” 

He ignored her. “Am I a terrible boyfriend?” 

“I have, thank God, never dated you.”

“No,” Arthur agreed, tipping his head against the window and watching the people on the street down below. “But you know people who have. Am I a terrible boyfriend?”

“Arthur, the last people I knew who you dated were in high school. Everyone’s a terrible boyfriend in high school.” 

“So I _was_ a terrible boyfriend.”

“No, you were mostly just a teenage boy and all teenage boys are terrible. You’ve cleaned up quite nicely. What’s this about? Did you fight with Eames?”

“No,” said Arthur, on a little sigh. “No, we’re not fighting, I just…I might be a terrible boyfriend.” 

“You’re not a terrible boyfriend. Where’s this coming from? It’s coming from somewhere.” 

“No one’s ever thought I was a good boyfriend before. How many other successful relationships have I had?” 

“Arthur, this is something important I’m going to tell you. Are you listening? We are, all of us, only supposed to _have_ basically one successful relationship in our lifetime. Mostly every other relationship we have is going to be a failure, and it’s _supposed_ to be. You can only have one successful one. You’re in the middle of it. Congratulations.” 

“Or it’s going to be another failure, I just don’t know it yet,” said Arthur miserably. 

“Okay, seriously, what did you two fight about?” 

“Nothing,” Arthur said honestly. “We didn’t fight about anything. Eames is lovely, he’s delightful, he…says nice things all the time and is sweet to me and he…he’s a _very good boyfriend_ , Danielle.” 

Danielle was silent for a second. Then she said gently, “He loves you, Arthur.” 

“Right,” Arthur agreed. “Yes. I know. I know he does. He loves me now, very much. But eventually he’s going to—” Arthur cut himself off. 

“He isn’t going to get sick of you.” 

“Why not? _I_ would get sick of me. I’m…impatient and sarcastic, and I complain when he makes a mess of the kitchen trying to cook for me, and I refuse to let him paint in bed because it would ruin the sheets, and he gets under my skin—in a good way—and then I’m annoyed about it and push him away, and I’m horrible at sexting.” 

“I don’t want to know about that last one,” said Danielle. 

“I’ve never had a successful relationship, Dani. I don’t know how to be a boyfriend.” 

“You don’t need to know how to be _a_ boyfriend, Arthur. You just need to know how to be _his_ boyfriend. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.” 

Arthur wasn’t so sure.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

A lot of hotel vodka later, Arthur got up the courage to text Eames.

_I’d blindfold you_ , he texted. And then, to make sure Eames got the point, _With the orange tie._

It took Eames a second to text back. Arthur downed some more vodka and thought _of course_ he finally got up the nerve to sext and Eames wouldn’t be around. 

Then Eames texted: 

_…_

Arthur frowned at the stupid ellipsis, but luckily Eames texted again. 

_this is going fabulous places but can u hold the thought_

Arthur considered, then texted: _Where are you?_

Eames wrote back, _grocery store_

Arthur: _Get the fuck out of the grocery store so I can sext with you._

Eames wrote back immediately: _now out of the grocery store_ and _all urs_ and _tell me more about the tie_.

Arthur: _Are you still in public?_

Eames: _walking home_

Arthur: _What are you wearing?_

Long delay until the next text. Arthur fidgeted a little bit. 

Then: _what do u want me to be wearing_

Arthur considered, then: _Nothing_. And then _Except for the orange tie blindfold._

_and what r u wearing_ , came Eames’s text. 

Arthur considered again. He looked down at what he was actually wearing, which was a pair of Eames’s old boxer shorts and one of Eames’s old T-shirts. Which he was wearing because he tended to wear Eames’s clothes to bed when he missed Eames. He didn’t know if Eames knew that or not, because Arthur was the one who did the laundry.

Arthur texted back, _What do you want me to be wearing?_

Eames’s next text was immediate, _no go, ur controlling this sext_

Arthur frowned. What the hell did that mean? He thought about what Eames liked to see him in and drew a total blank. Christ, he really was the world’s worst boyfriend. He didn’t even know what his boyfriend _liked_. 

He went with, _The dove gray Tom Ford with the argyle-twist waistcoat._

Eames replied, _specificity, i like it, go on_

And Arthur had no idea what to do next. God, he sucked at this. He considered, gulping down more vodka. 

Eames helpfully gave him a prompt, _fine, uve got me blindfolded, what do u do next_

Arthur thought about what he’d do if Eames walked into his hotel room right at that moment. _I kiss you_ , he wrote, because Arthur had a probably-not-so-secret fixation on kissing Eames’s lips, was obsessed with Eames’s lips. _On the mouth_ , he clarified, so Eames would know. 

_what kind of kiss_ , came Eames’s reply. 

Arthur didn’t know what to make of that. _One with tongue_ , he decided finally, hoping it was the right answer. 

Eames texted, _is this turning u on_

Not in the least. Arthur had never been less turned on by a conversation with Eames. Arthur was more turned on when they had conversations about whose turn it was to go out and get the mail. He texted back, _Yes, yes, very much_ , wondered if he was protesting too much, decided he didn’t give a fuck, and took another gulp of vodka. 

Which was when his phone rang. 

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, and contemplated pretending to be unable to answer the phone even though he’d just been texting readily. “Fuck,” he said again, and answered it to get it over with. “Shut up, I know it’s terrible.” 

“Arthur.” Eames sounded amused. “What the hell are you doing, darling?” 

“Making a complete fool of myself,” said Arthur dramatically. 

“No, you’re not, you’re being adorable, as is your wont.”

“You know, maybe I’d find sexting easier if you used proper spelling and stuff.” 

“I always knew grammar turned you on, and are you drunk?” 

“How can you possibly know I’m drunk? Do you have a camera spying on me in this room?” His texts had been carefully typo-free, he knew they had been. 

“Because I know how you sound when you’ve been drinking and it’s like this.” 

“I think my phone is going to die any second now,” Arthur said into his pillow. “We just won’t be able to have this conversation, sorry.” 

“Darling, you do know that I do not care about your inability to write anything even remotely sexy via text.” 

“I’m a horrible boyfriend,” Arthur told him. 

“You’re really not.” 

“Yes, I am. You’re a really good boyfriend, Eames, did you know that?”

“Exactly how drunk are you?” 

“I _mean_ it,” Arthur complained. “You’re a very good boyfriend, and I’m a very bad boyfriend, and do you see the problem here?” 

“No. Not at all. Because I don’t accept your premise.” 

“Stop talking about ‘premises,’ what the fuck,” complained Arthur. “I am telling you a very true and serious thing, which is that I am a terrible boyfriend who sucks at sexting.” 

“Darling.” Eames’s voice was patient and kind and firm. “I do not rate my boyfriends on their sexting abilities.”

“Shut up, you totally fucking do.” 

Eames was silent for a second. “Okay, I rated previous boyfriends on their sexting abilities. I don’t rate you, ever, on anything. Because you have your own scale. You have the Arthur scale. You’re ARTHUR in all caps for me, and you’re the best boyfriend, and drink a lot of water and take some aspirin or something and go to sleep and you’ll feel better in the morning.” 

“You’re just humoring me,” Arthur accused sulkily. 

“I don’t ever humor you, Arthur. Ever. I think that you think I do, but the truth is I do everything I do because I find you vastly entertaining and interesting and fascinating, and I don’t ever humor you. You humor me. You humor me a lot, about a lot of really boring and annoying things that drive you crazy, and that’s because you’re an excellent boyfriend. You put up with every crazy thing about me and ask nothing in exchange, so you’ve got it all totally wrong.” 

“No, you do,” said Arthur, confused now and his head spinning a bit. “It’s the opposite. You put up with every crazy thing about _me_ and ask nothing in exchange.”

“Then I guess that’s what makes us perfect for each other. Darling, seriously, I don’t care what you ever bloody text me. Nothing is about the sexting.” 

***

Arthur woke with a hangover. And texts from Eames. 

_How are you feeling, darling?_

_Notice all of my proper punctuation and grammar._

_I even looked up how to spell grammar.   _

_Hope all the beautiful punctuation and grammar and spelling makes your day easier._

_Text me so I know you’re alive._

Arthur wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. But if he never came out, he’d never get to see Eames again. His life was truly complex, he thought. 

He texted back. _not alive – definitely dead_

_NO CAPITAL LETTERS?!?!!?_ Eames texted back. _What have you done with my boyfriend?!!?_

_Fuck you_ , Arthur texted him, and then dragged himself into the shower. 

***

But later, when he was supposed to be getting ready to go after the mark, he was really staring at his last text to Eames and thinking he was crazy. He was _insane_. Because it wasn’t about the sexting, as Eames had said; it was about Eames just knowing that Arthur…

_I want to be a better boyfriend_ , he texted to Eames. 

_I want to make sure you never have a reason to leave me._

_I think about you constantly, every minute, every day._

_I miss you so desperately that I worry that every single one of my projections will just look like you._

_I hate to take jobs without you. I want you on every single job; I want you with me, and your entire purpose would just be to make me smile because you make me smile._

_And I know I pretend that you don’t and that you’re annoying, but that’s because I’m a terrible boyfriend, and I want to be a better boyfriend because you make me happier than I know what to do with._

_And that’s the problem, I don’t know what to do with you and this and us, I’m really bad at it, but if you could give me room to learn, I’m a very fast learner._

_I am the best at learning. I am a professional learner._

_I really, really am._

Arthur sent the texts in one feverish storm of inspiration and then shut his phone off and went under and refused to look at it or think about it until the job was done. 

And when it was done and he was back topside a few hours later and on his way to the airport, he turned his phone back on. 

Eames had sent him one text in response, just one. 

_jesus christ arthur best sexting ever_

Arthur texted back. _On my way home._

***

“Can we talk about why you think you’re a terrible boyfriend?” Eames asked, head turned on his pillow so he could look across at Arthur on his pillow. 

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and said, “No, we can’t talk about that, because that’s information you learned while I was drunk, and the rule is we don’t talk about things I say when I’m drunk, we don’t acknowledge that I’m ever even drunk.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that was the rule,” said Eames lightly. “My mistake. So can we talk instead about the fact that _I’m_ a terrible boyfriend?” 

Arthur opened his eyes. “No,” he said. “You’re not.” 

“Arthur, you make me happy,” Eames said, and his voice was grave and his face was all seriousness, and this should have been so awkward and uncomfortable, all this talking about _feelings_. Arthur should have been squirming, but instead he stared across at Eames and just _ate it up_. “I think you’re delightful. I feel bad for everyone else on the planet because they don’t get to be your boyfriend, but not so bad that I’d ever give you up, because I am a very selfish person and am going to keep the bragging rights to Being Arthur’s Boyfriend for as long as I possibly can. And the fact that you could ever, in that brilliant brain of yours, have harbored the idea that I thought you were less than fantastic means that I’m the one who’s failing in this relationship here, not you, because you should have known that I would never think you’re a terrible boyfriend; I’m so far from thinking that.” 

Arthur blinked and drew in a breath, but he didn’t know what he had to say and it didn’t matter because Eames kept talking. 

“So those texts you sent me are beautiful and gorgeous and I will treasure them forever but they were everything I already knew, never doubt that for a second. I know you, Arthur, and you’re not used to that, so you think you need to explain yourself, but I was never upset about the sexting thing. I only ever sent you ridiculous texts because then you would send me your ridiculous texts in response, and every single absurdly literal and obtuse text I ever got from you was golden to me. I sit around and I read back your responses and I wonder how someone so clever and hilarious puts up with me. I treasure them far more than the filthiest text I ever got from any other person, because they’re so _you_ and I love _you_.” 

Eames stopped talking. He apparently thought Arthur was going to have something to say now. Arthur had no idea what to say. What did you say when someone said something like that to you? This was why Eames was such a good boyfriend and Arthur was such a terrible one. 

Arthur said, “Can we make a deal?”

Eames looked delighted. He hooked a leg over Arthur’s to drag him that little bit closer and said, “Yes. I love deals. They’re so Arthurian.” 

“If I ever do anything that makes you think that I don’t want this—don’t want _you_ —you’ll tell me so I can find the way to fix it. I am very, very good at finding the ways to fix things.” 

“I have no doubt,” said Eames after a moment. “You’re the best.”

Arthur ignored that. “Is it a deal?”

“It’s a deal. And vice versa. I’m not as good at fixing things as you, but I do have my talents.” 

“It’s a deal,” Arthur agreed, and felt like he could fully breathe for the first time in a while. Eames was there and he wanted him and he wasn’t going to stop wanting him without warning him first, without giving him the opportunity to make sure he still wanted him. Arthur could work with that. Arthur could stop bracing for a blow to come out of the blue. 

Eames smiled at him a little bit, waited until Arthur smiled back, then closed his eyes. Arthur watched him as he fell asleep, as his breathing evened out and his facial features went lax. Arthur thought how he was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen and the most important thing Arthur had ever been trusted with. 

Arthur moved cautiously, wriggling his way underneath Eames’s arm. They didn’t cuddle very often. Sometimes Eames got possessive, flung an arm over Arthur, but sleeping curled into each other was not a habit they were in. But Arthur was suddenly recognizing the value of a good cuddle. When you were splayed open and vulnerable, you could press your face against another person and let them surround you and pretend that you were whole again, that you at least had enough armor to get yourself through the day. 

“I’m going to buy myself an orange tie just for you,” Arthur whispered into his skin, because what he really wanted to say was _I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything I have ever encountered ever on the entire planet_ but Arthur was only good at such proclamations when he was on the verge of a panic attack, he had never developed Eames’s ability to say them so casually and beautifully. 

Eames made a tiny hum of approval, and Arthur wasn’t sure if Eames was sleeping or awake and he didn’t care. Eames shifted his body to accommodate Arthur, and Arthur let Eames hug him close. 

It felt a lot like being in a really good relationship, Arthur thought.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [arthur learns 2 sext](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422738) by [alltoseek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek)




End file.
